Go and Catch a Falling Star
by Robe a la Anglaise
Summary: An expansion of the beach scene in JE which gives Rose a little more say in the matter of her own fate. Ten/Rose TenII/Rose one-shot romance


**A/N: I know I'm not alone in feeling that the infamous "Beach Scene" in Journey's End was really unsatisfying (fans find it unsatisfying in different ways - personally it leaves me _furious_ on behalf of Rose, but whatevs). But I have to admit that one of the things that bugs me the most about it isn't thematic – it's arguably an editing blip. When the metacrisis Doctor leans to whisper in Rose's ear the camera cuts away to the other Doctor's face, and then back to Rose where Metacrisis is _still _whispering in her ear. In other words, he was whispering way long to say only "I love you" or even, "I love you Rose Tyler". Now, I wouldn't put it past the writers/editors to have tossed in that little bit of ambiguity on purpose, but most fans (or at least fic writers) seem to just accept that he told her he loved her, and that's that. I just feel like that's such a cop-out, honestly.**

**So anyway, I wrote this little one-shot as an attempt to explain and come to terms with the scene in a way that makes me a lot happier about it. That's all.**

**Also, pfffft. Like I own ANYTHING associated with DW. Puh-lease.  
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><p><strong>Go and Catch a Falling Star<strong>

It's bloody cold here, it being _Norway_ and heading into winter, not that she would expect him to notice. At times he can be incredibly perceptive, and at others completely and utterly dense.

Typically male then.

At this very particular moment, perhaps surprisingly, she's distracted by the cold. She's also distracted by the irritating thought that she's standing on soggy, salty sand and that the salty sog is ruining a pair of her favorite boots. She'd worn them in particular because she wasn't sure she'd be coming back. Travel via the dimension cannon was by necessity light, and before every trip she strapped a thick packet of identification, precious stones, and photographs of loved ones around her waist, in case she didn't make it back and ended up stuck somewhere (after it happened to you once, you got kind of reasonably paranoid about it happening again). These boots, though, were the perfect combination of comfort and fashion and, in her opinion, made her bum look _fantastic_.

Present situation considered these are inconsequential thoughts, but it's all adding to the growing list of why she's aggravated more than anything else at this particular moment. Aggravated when, probably, she should be livid or miserable or some sort of complicated mixture of messy emotions. Focusing down on the roiling knot of unpleasantness that settled beneath her ribcage when she realized _exactly_ where the Doctor just landed them, Rose finds she can't name it anything _but_ aggravation. Aggravation in its purest, rawest form – frustration so intense that at moments it _does_ feel like rage and at others it feels like absolute misery.

In a few days (or maybe only a few hours, or maybe even only a few minutes) she knows she'll probably be struggling through that host of conflicting thoughts and feelings about everything that has just happened, is happening, is about to happen.

But right now, with the cold wind whipping tangles into her hair on a familiar beach in a Norway that is not _her_ Norway, mostly, she's feeling fed up.

How could she forget how high-handed he could be? Arrogant, condescending, pompous, big-headed, _PRAT_.

She's fought and struggled for _so_ long to get to this point. And she won't lie to herself and deny that a lot of what kept her fighting and struggling was trying to get back to him (how could she turn her back on a chance to find him again?), but a larger part of it was her sense of responsibility in being a citizen of the universe. A sense that _he_, by pulling her out of her beans-on-toast life and taking her on a spin round time and space, had instilled in her. A sense of responsibility that was impossible to ignore once the stars started going out.

It's been so, so long, and she's so, so tired. She'd thought, and perhaps it had been self-indulgent, but she _had_ thought that maybe her reward for so much sacrifice and struggle would be getting to stay with him. The Doctor and Rose in the TARDIS – as it should be. As if cosmic providence would tie up their mad little fairytale with a fat, shiny ribbon and stick a 'happily ever after' tag on it as they rode off into the nearest nebula.

Just went to show that no matter how much of the universe you'd seen, how much growing up you'd done, and how long you'd been stranded in a parallel universe with now way of getting home, you could still be a bit hopelessly naïve, really.

Because here _he_ was, dumping her off without even asking her opinion on the matter.

For all his pretty words, in the end she really was just another Sarah Jane.

He has that stupid pained expression on his _stupid_ face too – the one that tells her that at this particular moment he's congratulating himself a little on his own masochistic magnanimous nature; feeling oh so self-sacrificing and noble.

Noble…_Donna_…

Rose pushes the concern away; she can't think about Donna right now… there's too much else for her to process. She knows firsthand how that power burns. The heartbeat of the universe has thrummed within her (even now she can feel the TARDIS singing softly at the edges of her consciousness) but Donna isn't everything Bad Wolf was, so maybe she'll be okay.

But probably not.

He'll fix her though. That's what he does. He fixes things, especially the things _he's_ broken. And Rose has a feeling he's about to 'fix' this situation as regards her. She's not stupid, she knows it probably has to be like this. And it isn't as if she _wants_ to abandon her mum and dad and her new little brother; abandon the life she's built here in this world over four years. She's old enough and wise enough now to know that no one gets everything they want. She's experienced enough now to know that when everything settles and she can think quietly and rationally she will be able to come to terms with this. But she's worked so hard to get to this point – lived for years with the terror that she would fail. Fail her family, fail her world, fail her new adopted universe, and fail him.

Various minor alien invasions aside, this is her first _real_ test since she'd been separated from the Doctor and she started working for Torchwood; and if she says so herself, she'd done a pretty stand-up job of showing that she can take care of herself. So what she wants is a bloody say in the matter; not to be treated like some… some _stupid ape_ who needs to be taken care of because she doesn't know what's good for her.

Who can blame her if she's aggravated? If she wants to throw off the maturity that experience and sacrifice have brought her and stomp her feet and throw a screaming fit like a three year old? If he's going to treat her like one, she might as well act the part.

She loves him of course, god knows he wouldn't be able to drive her this crazy if she didn't, but right now she hates him a little too. So maybe it's a bit immature, asking him about the last time they were facing each other on this beach instead of quietly and gracefully accepting her destiny, but all of this is confusing and it's tearing her heart apart and she refuses to be the only one standing on this cold bloody beach with her heart shattering.

Although unlike last time she could reach out and touch him - press her hand flat against his chest and feel that odd double beat of his hearts – there is still a gulf a universe wide between them. She wants to kick sand at him and scream, pull her hair and rant at him because this situation is so unfair it's _maddening_. Instead, she takes a deep breath, dredges up the last scraps of patience she has left to keep from having a right-out tantrum, and asks him to finish _that_ sentence.

She deserves it, doesn't she? She's been waiting over four damn years to hear the rest of that sentence.

His answer only frustrates her more.

In that infuriating way he has of knowing her so well (and not knowing her at all) he's right. Like he _always_ is.

Because no, it doesn't need to be said, not for Rose to know what he feels. The words don't need saying because pretty shiny words won't change the reality of the situation; they won't change what has to happen for this mess to wrap up as neatly as possible. They don't need saying because he's said them without saying them every day since he first took her hand in a basement and told her to run. She knows that, because she knows him.

But yes, actually, it does need to be said because there is power in words. Because she's been waiting to hear them aloud for years, even before she and mum got stuck here on this 'alternate' Earth. Because she has sacrificed and risked everything to help him, to get back to him, and damnit she _deserves_ to hear them. Especially when she's about to get abandoned on this damn beach for a second time and she's getting the feeling there is nothing she can do to change this. So yes, the words do need saying, aloud, properly, like adults, thanks.

So she turns to the _other _Doctor and asks the same question.

The human Doctor is staring hard at his twin, and Rose wonders exactly how much of Donna is in him because his expression, plain as day, is calling his Time Lord counterpart 'Git' (amongst other, less flattering terms). He keeps his gaze on Pinstripes for a long moment as he steps forward but his gaze shifts to her as his fingers lightly grasp her elbow. It's only a split second that his eyes hold hers before he leans forward to whisper in her ear, but there's no resentment. No recrimination. Not for her.

Only that soft look; sweet and warm and familiar, that he had always reserved just for her in quiet moments when they'd saved the day, when things were calm and peaceful and lovely, when everyone lived. But it's a guarded look as well, affectionate but detached.

She expects a declaration.

He'd say the words, of course, she would be tied to him, and that would be the end of it - because words have power, and this was the way things played out. The way things _had_ to play out. And she feels for him, this human-Doctor, because he's getting fobbed off on her without a say too – as trapped by necessity and 'Time Lord knows-best'-ism as she is. But she's feeling too petulant and selfish right now to _really_ care that he's in the same boat. At this point, despite the Doctor's claim to the contrary, he's basically the same person as the one who's about to abandon her.

"If you go to him…" His breath is warm and his voice soft as it stirs her hair. His voice falters there at the end and the sound tugs at her beleaguered heart, "…if you go to him now, he won't have the strength to turn you away."

It takes her a moment to process what he's said.

Then her breath hitches and the aggravation twisting her gut vanishes like a puff of smoke in the wind as the whole world narrows to the feeling of his fingers on her elbow and the soft brush of his breath on her cheek and the realization of what he's just given her.

He's given her exactly what she wanted – a say in her own fate.

He expects her to leave – she can hear it buried in his tone, see it in the subtle tightening of his shoulders and in his carefully guarded eyes. _Him when I first met him indeed_; she remembers that cautious expression, though it was most familiar on a different face. Steeling himself against further loss and additional hurt. Suddenly she wants to laugh and throw her arms around him and dance, although it's been a long time since she wanted to dance, or to laugh with abandon. Right now she would like to – because he's just made this impossible, horrible situation _easy_.

Well…as easy as it can be, all things considered.

So when she pulls back from him and he is saying goodbye with his eyes and letting her know that it's okay with his quietly encouraging smile she does what ought to be done in such situations - when someone has preserved your chance at happiness by wagering their own; she grabs his lapels and she gives him a good, hard snog.

It isn't a particularly earth shattering kiss.

There are too many people watching, and its _freezing _out here, and really it's more about Rose making a point to him than it is about having a proper kiss. But there's a frisson of awareness that rockets through her when she wraps her arms around his shoulders and increases the amount of contact between them, a tingle along her skin which indicates that one day this could be, will be, a really good thing.

It could be the cold that's making him tremble; he is mostly human now after all, but probably not. Terrifying and exhilarating, having that much power over someone, especially someone like him.

Still…Rose can't help but step towards the TARDIS when she hears that familiar grinding hum start up. She's been chasing that sound for years, and the movement is almost involuntary.

In the split second before she turns towards the disappearing TARDIS, she catches sight of this slightly dopey expression on his face, as if all his Christmases have come at once (and he's had A LOT of Christmases). It makes her feel powerful and perfect and giddy, and even as she watches the TARDIS fade away for the last time a heady happiness is burning through her - making her heart race and leaving her fingertips buzzing – creating a peculiar contrast to the heartache and sorrow accompanying the departure of one half of the man she loves and a life now lost forever.

When she feels a warm, familiar hand slip into her own she finds that she REALLY wishes she hadn't turned away from him and towards the TARDIS - even though it was her last chance to say goodbye (and his last chance as well) - the affectionate softness is gone from his expression and its back to shuttered and wary.

They stare at each other and apparently there is something in her face that makes him drop her hand almost as soon as he takes it. His hands hang a little awkwardly at his sides – as if he is afraid to pocket them in case she will reach out for him. Rather than make a decision on that one way or another she turns back to the last vestiges of a life now out of their reach – nothing more than a square depression on the sand.

In a few hours the ocean will erase even that (if the wind doesn't do the job first).

The conflicting emotions she was expecting earlier are creeping in now. But she tells herself – no - she _knows_ it's going to be okay, because it's always better with two, and for Rose Tyler, it's always better with him.

"I'm sorry." The words erupt out of her before she really thinks about speaking them.

"Sorry?"

"About all of this." She means a million things by that. He _has to _understand. Because he's the Doctor, and she's his Rose.

He stares at her for a long moment and half shrugs, "Then I guess I'm sorry too."

"Are you alright?" He opens his mouth to speak but she interrupts, "Stupid question, of course not. But… will you be? No TARDIS, human life span…will you be alright?" She doesn't ask if _he, _the other him, will be alright. It isn't the time for that, not yet.

For a long time he doesn't say anything, eyes inscrutable, mouth drawn in a thin line. He raises one hand and brushes a strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear. Rose is too raw right now to stand strong in the face of such displays – her eyelids flutter and a breath escapes her unsteadily - at this the Doctor's whole aspect warms and he replies softly, "Oh yes. I will be."

Rose reaches out then, as she's been aching, longing, dreaming of doing for years and laces her fingers through his. His eyes dart to their hands, up to her face, and back to their hands. His face is now vacillating between 'warm' and 'ecstatic' and Rose decides to see if she can get it to settle on the latter. She swings their joined hands back and forth a bit, and the motion draws his attention back to her face to stay.

She's grinning openly even though her heart is broken because it is also whole again for the first time in ages, "So."

"So…?"

"We never did make it to Barcelona. You'll have to settle for the city and not the planet, but we have got one here. No nose-less dogs though."

Eyebrows shoot up in surprise before elation breaks across his face (it makes her heart catch the way it always has, one more thing that tells her they'll make it just fine).

"Fantastic! You, Rose Tyler are fantastic!" he laughs and she joins him, and for a moment the years of heartache, separation, and misery are chased away. When the laughter dies they're grinning stupidly at each other and that _look_ is in his eyes_; _the one that _says_ _without saying_. He glances over his shoulder and following his glance Rose sees her mum has wandered away with her mobile to her ear, her back turned pointedly to them. The Doctor moves a step closer and Rose's world narrows again, "and I love you." The way his voice breaks a little when he says it could be her downfall, she decides.

He's gone all blurry through sudden tears and for a moment she's gripped by the irrational terror that he's going to disappear between one blink and another like last time. Her breath hitches and she tightens her hand around his, "Quite right too." It comes out more wobbly and less saucy than she wanted, but at least she gets it out.

"You know that's how the sentence was going to end, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Rose Tyler, I love you."

Laughing a little because, confusion of emotions aside, she suddenly realizes that at the heart of it she's very happy and because they're ridiculous, the two of them, she asks without really caring about the answer, "Why didn't you say if five minutes ago?"

"Well… we had a bit of an audience." His free hand goes up to rub the back of his neck in a gesture so familiar it makes her want to burst out in laughter and tears at the same time. He's blushing a bit and it reminds Rose that this version of her Doctor _is_ a bit of a romantic, "and I reckoned that after everything, you should have the right to choose your own path. But as you're still standing here, with _me_, can I say that I'm really, really, really glad that you made the choice you did? Because I am. Very glad. Not that I wouldn't have been happy for you, hypothetically, if you had made a different choice, but from a purely selfish standpoint, I really do think this is the preferable outcome. Anyway, I can say it now," and there is more meaning in that last bit than applies only to this current time and place, "and I rather like the way it sounds, Rose Tyler, I love you."

"I like the way it sounds too." There are a million things that need to be said. Questions that need to be asked, details that need to worked out, stories that must be shared. It's impossible to know where to start, so the proper thing to do is to start with what's most important, "And I love you, my Doctor."

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><p><strong>*Peace y'all*<strong>


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